Chapter Twelve: The Music Girl

After leaving the hospital, I gently turned down An Ye and Shi Yu’s offer to come spend some time at my place. I just couldn’t bear to let them see me in such a sorry state, nothing more.

Lying on the wooden bed in my little room, the composure and endurance I’d managed so far finally gave way. A rush of sorrow and distress surged into my mind, leaving me with nothing but a deep sense of loss and despair. For a moment, I even felt an urge to flee this city—a city that had stripped me of my fighting spirit, my love, and my dreams.

Resigned, I thought to myself that since I was out of a job anyway, I might as well sleep my troubles away. At least in dreams, I could hope for a little peace and rest. These thoughts led me to crave a cigarette again, so I got up, pulled on my clothes, and went out to the nearby supermarket to buy a pack.

Stumbling through the dim streets, I bought a pack of Red Cloud and a lighter, then hurried back to my rented room. Sprawling once more on the bed, I opened the pack and, with unfamiliar fingers, lit a cigarette. The familiar taste filled my mouth, but the relief I sought seemed to settle in my lungs and mind instead.

As I followed the tendrils of smoke up to the dingy, water-stained ceiling, memories crowded in unbidden. I thought of the three years I’d spent with Zhang Jiaxin—how we’d skipped classes, gotten into trouble, drank and surfed the web, sang karaoke and rented rooms together, throwing ourselves wholeheartedly into whatever we thought was meaningful.

Without realizing it, my eyes grew moist. Was it possible I still couldn’t let go of all this? I searched myself for an answer, but none came.

Then my memories shifted to the days with Sister Shi Yu—singing at the bar, taking part in events. Life had seemed so joyful and natural then. With her, I could forget all my troubles, forget the absurd and melancholy past. She was like a cup of warm water—colorless and tasteless, yet she warmed my days.

Gradually, my thoughts drifted to another girl, distant and unpredictable—Luo Qing. I’d only met her a handful of times, hardly enough to call us acquainted, yet for some reason her bewildered, questioning eyes kept coming back to me.

A slight movement sent bits of ash tumbling onto my face and the bed, but I couldn’t even be bothered to brush them off.

Turning onto my side, I finally drifted into a troubled sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, darkness had fully settled over the room. I reached for my phone and checked the time—it was already past nine in the evening.

I slowly sat up against the headboard, drew another cigarette in the dark, found my lighter, and sparked up.

No job after graduation, love betrayed, and now even my last remaining path forward had been cut off. My hopes for life felt as fragile as the glowing tip of a cigarette—liable to flicker out or burn itself up at any moment.

I put on my clothes, pocketed the cigarettes and lighter, and fished out my battered wooden guitar from under the bed. I decided to head out for a walk, to see the side of the city I’d never known at night, and maybe just pass the time.

On the guitar, scrawled in red paint, were the words: “My love for you, Xin, will never change.” My heart clenched at the sight.

I dampened a towel and gently wiped the dust from the guitar, deliberately ignoring those words. When I was done, I packed the guitar into its case, slung it over my shoulder, and set out.

Leaving the old house, I made a quick stop at the supermarket for a bag of the cheapest beer, then set off toward a small stone bridge on the west side of the city, beer in my left hand, guitar over my right shoulder.

At night the stone bridge was quiet—sometimes a few couples would come to whisper sweet nothings, sometimes a solitary soul would stroll by, seeking comfort or reflection. It was a place that, though silent, never truly felt lonely.

I sat down on the rail at the center of the bridge, set down the beer, bit open a bottle, then took out my guitar and strummed a few chords. Though slightly out of tune, it was close enough, and I nodded in approval.

“Hm?” I turned my head and noticed not far away a girl in black, also carrying a guitar. She seemed to have just arrived.

Perhaps she’d heard my playing, for she was watching me from a short distance, and then she strolled over.

It was only when she drew close that I saw her clearly—fair, clean skin, a touch of baby fat that made her look endearing, a pair of lively, beautiful eyes, a petite nose and lips. Altogether, she was naturally lovely, with a hint of ethereal grace.

She wore an oversized black hooded coat and black sweatpants, and her slight frame gave her an air of unique, unconventional artistry.

She waved at me with a smile—a greeting I returned with a nod and a smile.

Setting down her guitar, she sat down beside me with a casual air and another smile, saying nothing.

“What a coincidence, to find a kindred spirit here…” I remarked, a little moved.

“Mhm.”

“Do you come here every day?” I still found it hard to believe that two strangers who rarely played guitar in this spot could meet here by chance.

“I only arrived in this city today,” she replied with a smile.

“Oh, is that so.” I couldn’t help but marvel at the intricacies of fate, or perhaps this was destiny, the mysterious bond that links people together.

I took a long swig of beer and cradled my guitar. “Shall we sing?”

“Mhm.”

I want to stand by the blue sky and the sea and sing at the top of my lungs, to let my youth bloom in wild abandon…

I began singing “Let Your Youth Bloom” by Shuimu Nianhua, pouring my own life into the song. I longed to change my life, to let it burst forth like youth itself—but I had no real ability, no special talent. All I could do was drift, pausing here and there, until the very end…

By the final chorus, I was shouting, the calm at the start giving way to raw emotion. It was sudden but felt utterly natural.

As the music faded, the girl gave me a gentle round of applause. Her eyes held both admiration and curiosity.

I picked up my half-finished beer and drained it, then lit another cigarette.

“Want one?” I asked.

She nodded, and though I didn’t know why, from the moment I saw her I sensed she was someone with a story. I instinctively felt she was the type who smoked and drank.

“Thank you.” She took the cigarette from my hand, pulled out a delicate lighter from her pocket, and lit up.

While she lit her cigarette, I bit the caps off two more beers and handed one to her. She smiled and took it.

“Your turn—sing something,” I said, suddenly eager to hear her voice.

“After I finish this cigarette.” She smoked with an easy grace, and from the way she held her cigarette, it was clear she’d been at it for some time.

“What do you think love really is?” she asked, gazing into the distance as she exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “People live and die for it, yet in the end, no one ever really sees what it looks like.”